


Communication Styles

by hathycol



Series: The Court of Public Opinion [3]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Doctor Strange (2016), Jessica Jones (TV), Luke Cage (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: And how, Christine Palmer Deserves Better, Defenders speculation, Doctor Strange movie spoilers, Doctor Strange post-credits scene, Dog Cops, Foggy Nelson Is a Good Bro, Mixed Media, Superhero Babysitter Claire Temple, Texting, Tweeting, html is haaaaard, slight Luke Cage spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 20:14:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8461447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hathycol/pseuds/hathycol
Summary: Claire Temple is not in a cult. Wanda Maximoff needs to improve her communication skills. Thor is not just a hashtag. Foggy Nelson is getting a little tired of being the vigilante lawyer of choice. Christine Palmer is just tired.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Please note: this is spoiler mcspoilerface central for Doctor Strange. And for Luke Cage, although not to the same extent.
> 
> A continuation of my attempts to make the street-level MCU line up with the movies, plus some experimenting with the story style. I finished watching Luke Cage two days before Doctor Strange so it was an oddly difficult task. I street-level Googled a lot of New York in research but I am super British, forgive me my errors.
> 
> Can be read as a standalone but you may get more out of it if you read earlier instalments.Thanks to everyone who left comments and kudos on earlier works in this series - you guys are the best and warm me down to my very cockles!

" **Google Alerts** <googlealerts-noreply@google.com> Unsubscribe  
to 'me' (NightNurse)

**Ninjas AND death AND mysterious (loc: New York)**

NEWS

Report: Woman Falls From Sky, Avengers Deny Knowledge  
'The mysterious **death** of woman dressed in **'ninja'** clothing baffles **New York** cops...'"

Claire knew that information was power, and adding technology to that mix is more or less a superpower in its own right. Get ahead of the game, get ahead of the players. Okay, a combination of 'New York + ninjas + death' is probably not what the algorithm writers were thinking when they coded it, but Claire wanted to be prepared.

She looked at her phone and raised an eyebrow. Tiny bald ladies dressed in yellow didn't quite match what she was thinking of but it was a quiet enough day in the diner. Her mother waved her off even as Claire was half way out of the door.

Pop's had been rebuilt with 'community donations'; Claire had dark suspicions these donations might have come from the direction of Harlem's Paradise, but then Mariah needed neutral ground as much as anyone else these days. Either way, she slipped in quietly and nodded at the young men Bobby Fish had brought in to barber hair. Bobby barely looked up from his game but she thought the way he shifted his weight was an acknowledgement, perhaps.

Claire lived with her mother, officially, but Luke's apartment was becoming an... office, of sorts. She met Jessica there once, the other woman looking better than she had but still shifty and awkward in daylight. It was also where Claire kept the kind of equipment she wasn't comfortable storing at her mother's apartment. Jessica had helped to acquire some of that; she had ways to walk into places whilst hiding in plain sight. 

It was a short trip from Harlem to the Flatiron district. Claire took a minute to compose herself and then tried to look suitably distressed when presenting herself at the ER desk of the large, modern hospital. "My teacher," she all-but-wailed, "I went on vacation and I've come back and they say she's _dead!_ "

She'd timed this well. If she had come too early she would have been swarmed by the press right now, but things are weird enough in the city that the press move on quickly from mysterious deaths. A couple of doctors glanced at her, but it's a busy ER department; distressed relatives are nothing new.

The receptionist at the front desk had exactly the same look all ER front desk staff get - sympathetic with a note of _how do I make her go away?_ Claire had been banking on this reaction. "If I could just see her body," she sniffled, "or find out what happened, she will be at peace."

(Mentally she apologised to all Eastern religions she may have just insulted. Colleen Wing would probably find it hilarious if Claire told her at the next class.)

(She's not telling her anyway.)

"I'm sorry for your loss ma'am, but we can't give out information unless you're her next of kin."

"She was like my mother!" Claire is now far into the world of guesswork. Jessica would scold her for pushing the story too far but Claire needs to know if this ninja will get up and walk again, if they have anything to do with that terrible night at Metro-General. If Matt keeps on refusing to talk about it she'll find out herself.

"My god, it really is a cult, isn't it?" 

The appearance of the blonde doctor in scrubs came as an obvious relief to the receptionist. Claire allowed herself to be walked away from the desk and towards a quieter area of the waiting room. "A... a cult?" she asked tentatively. The glare from the doctor is obvious.

"Tell me what you know about the whereabouts of Stephen Strange and I'll help you see your... teacher, or whatever you called her," the doctor hissed. Claire suddenly realised that the false grief of not-knowing she had been using to garner sympathy was reflected in full on this doctor.

"I don't know a Stephen Strange," she answered honestly. "I just wanted to find out..."

"I just need to know he's safe," the doctor said bluntly. "I don't care who you are. I don't care what you are, although I thought that your kind could just float in anyway."

This whole conversation has become much weirder than even Claire thought possible. "My... kind? Is this a race thing, or..."

"You! Claire Temple!"

Claire's heart sank. This was why she didn't come to hospitals anymore. Metro-General had a blacklist, and it turned out they were more than happy to circulate it to other hospitals. "A... a race thing?" the doctor said, looking confused. "Of course not, I meant a... a... magic thing, or whatever you are..." She shoved her hand into her pocket suddenly and Claire flinched as a business card was pushed at her. "You need to go, but call me, okay?"

The security guards and what looked like an enraged administrator are descending now. Claire glanced once at the card - _Christine Palmer, M.D._ \- and briskly walked out of the door before being strong-armed out of the third New York ER in as many months.

\--

 **Amanda <3** @lilmissmandy91 4h  
GUYS, GUESS WHAT??

 **Amanda <3** @lilmissmandy91 4h  
I was in Greenwich on my way to Bareburger and I saw THOR

 **Amanda <3** @lilmissmandy91 4h  
I mean he looked super gross but you can't hide them shoulders, amiright?? #superhero #thor #demshoulders

 **Super Watch NY** @superwatchny 2h  
@lilmissmandy91 pictures or it didn't happen! Also, Greenwich?!

 **Darcemeister** @scarfydarcy 2h  
@lilmissmandy91 @superwatchny he might have got confused with the one in London, he's that kind of dude. #justsaying

 **Amanda <3** @lilmissmandy91 1h  
@superwatchny no pics, didn't want the government to do a #LukeCage on him. Just thought it was cool was all!

 **peter** Retweeted  
**The Daily Bugle** @DailyBugle 7h  
Worried about an enhanced vigilante in YOUR area? We'd like to talk to you for an exclusive piece. #Spider-Menace

 **peter** @scienceinqueens 34m  
last rt: ugh gross.

 **peter** Retweeted  
**The Daily Bulletin** @NYDailyBulletin 2 days ago  
"A proportionate response?" Karen Page investigates increasing police militarism in the shadow of the Sokovia Accords and the rise of the enhanced.  bit.ly/2eXlpWF

 **peter** @scienceinqueens 24m  
last rt: better

\--

It was Foggy's night off. Genevieve was monitoring the inbox, Claire had temporarily cancelled Terrible Biweekly Cocktails while she dealt with her own legal stuff ("I'm using, er, another laywer," she had said nervously, and an overworked Foggy had let it lie), Hogarth was tied up on another case that had nothing to do with Foggy. He had plans to lie on the sofa, catch up on everything that was piling up on his TVR and eat Chinese food. Maybe do some laundry.

He had even got as far as ordering the bad Chinese food when his phone rang. His work phone. That he had turned off, checked the blankness twice, and then hidden under a cushion so he wasn't tempted when binging on _Dog Cops_.

"No no no," he mumbled, letting it ring out. "Not tonight."

The ringing stopped. A female voice rang out across the apartment. "Please, Mr Nelson, they tell me it's more polite to do this over the phone. I am trying." The voice had a faint Eastern European accent and it tailed off as the phone started to ring again. Foggy cursed, dug under the cushion and unlocked the screen.

"Hello, Ms Maximoff," he said heavily. "It's 8.30pm in New York, if you're interested."

"Oh," said the voice at the other end of the phone. "It's not that time where I am."

"Yes, I thought as much. Where is it, exactly, you are?"

"That doesn't matter. I'm contacting you because there is something like me in New York."

Foggy raised his eyebrows. Taking on the case of Captain America, fine. Taking on the others with him, fine. Taking on an undocumented Sokovian immigrant of unmeasured power, fine. The increasing need for them to tell him of threats and wild goose chases as though he could do anything about it, less fine. "And you... what, expect me to represent it as well? You know my retainer is gratifyingly large these days, right?"

"No!" She sounded frustrated. "I need for people to _know._ If I'm not the only one, I'm not such a..."

"Such a threat?" Foggy finished. "That's not a bad thought, actually. But there's been nothing in the press about someone like you and trust me, we'd have heard by now."

"No, whoever it is, they're... hidden. I felt the vibrations but I don't know that others could."

"So I find this someone... how?"

"I think they will be revealed soon," she said firmly. "There is something new about the way the world feels. A tear, imperfectly healed. Vis agrees with me."

In a sitcom, Foggy mused through a rising fog of horror, he would have had a mouthful of coffee and just spurted it across the room in surprise. What a shame that a sitcom was not the genre he seemed to be living in.

"Vis agrees with you? As in Vision? As in the weird purple thing that follows around Tony Stark? As in the side that is _actively hunting you down._ And you're what, texting him?"

"Um." For the first time since they became acquainted, Wanda Maximoff, the Scarlet Witch, sounded embarrassed. "Well. We don't text."

"Well, that's good."

"We used WhatsApp."

" _The method not the point,_ " Foggy hissed. The phone crackled suddenly and Foggy remembered why shouting at women with unmeasured powerful abilities could be unwise.

"He is the only one who understands," she said, sounding miserable. Foggy's rage ebbed away as quickly as it had grown. (For a moment, just a moment, it was Matt on the end of the phone. Foggy needed more sleep.)

"Okay," he said, trying to sound calmer. "Okay. Look. If I hear anything about this... this..."

"Sorcerer."

"Okay, sorcerer." Foggy is weirdly proud that his voice only wobbles slightly. "Sorcerer. I will see if it's helpful to your case and I will apply it as need be. But please, don't speak to anyone who knows Stark in the meanwhile, okay? You need to stay safe."

"I know," Maximoff replied, still sounding miserable. "I should go. Please let me know if you find the sorcerer. Your food has arrived, by the way."

The phone switched itself off as suddenly as it had turned on and Foggy whirled towards the perfectly timed harsh sound of the door buzzer. 

"I... could have handled that better," he said out loud, buzzing the food in and digging in a coat pocket for a wallet. 

(He started googling ‘sorcerer+New York’ over egg foo yung and Sergeant Whiskers finally catching his crook at the season finale.)

\--

**Text History: Foggy N**

**Today: 13.46pm**

Hey dude, hope everything is going well in that crazy law firm. I'm missing Terrible Biweekly Cocktails!

well hi to you too. stuff is nutz tho when isnt it. you seen many of our mutual friends recently?

Actually it's been quiet recently. But I wanted to ask you something weird.

oh clairebear its always smthng weird these days

but shoot

Have you heard anything about magic recently?

Foggy?

Don't worry if not, maybe I just got a real weirdo.

**Today: 15:02**

think we def need an info xchange. also burgers and probably beer.

because i thnk its not just ur weirdo.

\--

"I was worried about meeting you," Dr Christine Palmer, M.D., said softly as she slid into the seat opposite Claire. "I saw your file."

Claire raised an eyebrow. "Wow. I was pretty sure that was sealed."

Christine waved one hand, looking tired. "Someone in records owed someone a favour who owes me a favour. These things work out. Mostly I learned is that you're happy to steal hospital property for drugged kids brought to you by a vigilante. You shouted a lot about undead ninjas. Not the kind of weird I was after, I think."

"And yet, you're still here," Claire pointed out.

Christine shrugged. "I’ll take whatever weird I can get. I saw my ex-boyfriend step through a magical portal in a janitor's closet just after I'd sewed him up after being stabbed.”

Claire opened her mouth to say something. She paused and then shut it again. A moment passed. "Huh," she said eventually. "That's new."

A well-timed waitress stopped by their table, breaking the silence with coffee orders. Once she'd left, Christine leaned forward.

"I think now that you're mixed up in something different to what I got mixed up in, if that makes sense," Christine said. "You really don't know where Stephen is, do you?"

"I've never heard of the guy and I think your ninjas might be different to my ninjas. No, I can't believe I'm saying that either," Claire added, holding up a hand. "But actually, I don't think it's all completely separate to each other. The world has gone… well, strange over the last few years, haven't you noticed?"

"I was a first responder on the day of the Incident," Christine said. "I have some Sokovian colleagues now too - refugees."

"Well, sure, that's the big stuff," said Claire. "Dudes with hammers, Tony Stark doing whatever he’s doing this week, we all know about that. But what I think is that there's... other stuff, and it's related. You keep up with the news from the other parts of Manhattan, the stuff in Harlem and the Kitchen?”

"I heard something on Trish Talk," Christine volunteered. "I didn't really pay attention."

"Really? The guy with the mind-control? Bullet proof black guy in Harlem? Nothing?"

Christine looked embarrassed. "I work in emergency medicine. I had to deal with a... a personal thing, the last few months. There's only so much space in my brain."

"Look, I think what's going on with your friend is mixed up in everything else. Maybe the big things, definitely the little things. And I think that when people like us get involved with it too, we stay involved."

The coffee arrived, clattering on the table. Christine smiled absently at the waitress. "I'm not saying that I have any answers for you," Claire said honestly. "But I know someone who wants to know the same things that you do."

"I'm not doing anything that might get Stephen hurt," Christine said sharply, and Claire wondered for a moment just how much of an 'ex' this guy had been.

"Good, me neither," said Claire. "Trust me, I've sewed up a lot of these guys recently, they don't need any more hurting by me." Christine still looked sceptical. "I just need you to meet someone."

"What, some kind of vigilante? Like that spider guy that's hanging around Queens?"

"Actually," Claire said steadily, trying to be patient, trying to remember how she had felt when a blind man had fallen into a dumpster, and an impossibly strong woman dragged her out of ER, and a bullet proof man walked into her mom’s diner, "he's a lawyer." Her mouth quirked. "He is 100% not in a cult, either."

“Prove it,” said Christine challengingly.

Claire raised an eyebrow. “You’re off shift now, right?” 

\--

**Text History: Foggy N**

**Today: 18.23pm**

It’s definitely not just my weirdo. Terribly Biweekly Cocktails, meet me there in 30

omg i am not being the one to explain this to my scary assistant

no wait of course i am order me smthng ridiculous

Fine. I’m bringing a friend. You might need to reassure her a few times you’re not in a cult.

speak 4 urself clairebear


End file.
